


Of Blood and Spirit

by pushkin666



Series: Undiscovered Country [3]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Community: lewis_challenge, Lewis Fright Fest 2014, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/pseuds/pushkin666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Halloween in Oxford and the Supernatural Division is busier than ever. A story in three parts, including the story of how James became a vampire, and how James and Robbie move closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Blood and Spirit

**1539, Glastonbury Abbey, Glastonbury, Somerset, England**

Dusk is falling over the Somerset plan as Richard Layton reins in his horse at the foot of Glastonbury Tor. He glances up at the Tor where the last abbot, Richard Whyting, still hangs from the tower.

The abbot had dared to defy them when they’d arrived to strip him of his power, to dissolve the old and religious Order of the Abbey of Glastonbury that had been founded in the seventh century. 

Richard smiles. As old as the Abbey and the Order might have been here, in 1539, they have come to an end. He remains, older than the Order and indeed the Christian church in this land. It is rare that much interested him these days, but the monk who’d managed to wrest a sword from one of his men and attacked them with it, the one who’d smelt of more than human, of witch’s blood… Well he interested Richard. 

He’d been surprised and impressed at the fire in the monk’s eyes. It was clear from the way he’d used the sword, his skill in fighting and the moves that he made that this was somebody who’d once been a knight. Added to that was the glimpse of the ring on the monk’s finger and Richard knew that he wasn’t mistaken. Here was a brother knight; one of his very own Order.

That fire and those moves were the reason Richard is taking the unusual step of coming back for the injured monk, instead of killing him straight away. Death would come soon enough of course, but it would be of Richard’s time and making. 

He smiles, takes one last look up at the Tor and its macabre decoration. Then he heads back to the local house that he’s taken over, having fed on the owner and his wife, together with two of their servants. It had been a good feed and Richard is full of energy right now, full of the power and blood he needs when making a new vampire.

Soon enough he’s back at the house. He doesn’t require light, able to see in the dark. The stairs creak underfoot as he heads upstairs where he has the monk sequestered. His prisoner is awake and glaring at him when he enters the room. There’s that tantalising scent again –something not quite human – and as Richard takes a seat he can definitely smell witch, wondering which of the monk’s parents is responsible for it. It makes the man even more of a find and Richard runs his tongue over his fangs as he thinks about how delicious the monk will be to drink from. A heady mix of witch and human is something that he’s not had for many a year.

The glare only intensifies and Richard laughs. “Such righteous anger. Tell me monk, how long have you been away from the battlefields and the Order? It’s clear you’re no milk sop of a monk, that you’ve been a soldier in years past.”

Nothing. No response and Richard smiles. “No matter,” he tells him. “So, I have a gift for you.” He gestures elegantly to where the remaining servant, a skinny chambermaid, is tied and gagged in the corner.

“What kind of hell spawn are you?” the monk asks. His tone is mild and almost curious, but Richard can see the spark of anger in his eyes. A dissembler then – even better! 

Richard throws back his head and laughs. “I’m a Bruxo, Dhampyr, Nosferatu, Ramanga. You might name me as a vampire. But most of all, I will be your maker and you will call me Master.”

The monk blanches and struggles against his bounds. “What do you want with me fiend, and what do you want with her?”

Richard steps closer. “With you… Well I’m going to give you another chance. You fight well and we need such skills as yours in our ranks. And we are brothers in the same order.” He holds his ring out, the mate of the one on the monk’s hand. “As for her,” he throws the servant girl a look of contempt, “She’s nothing more than food.”

“No!” The monk tries to struggle out of his bonds. “I won’t let you!” 

Richard laughs again. “You have no choice.” He sits down on the bed and drags his prisoner up by his shoulders. “This is my will and you will do what I want. So... Tell me your name.” The monk struggles against him, trying to pull his eyes away from Richard’s. Richard grabs his head, thumbs digging into the man’s jaw. “Tell me,” he demands. “From your robe I can see you aren’t a novice. But then the Order has always had a long history with the Benedictines.” He sits back. “Your name. Now.”

There’s silence for a moment or two and Richard can’t help but be impressed at the monk’s strength, how he tries to fight against him. It’s pointless, of course. Richard is over a millennium in age. No human is able to stand against him no matter how strong they might be, not even the king! Eventually, the answer comes.

“Hythway,” the man says and the name sounds as though it’s been torn from him. “I am Brother Hythway.” Richard throws back his head and laughs triumphantly. 

“Such fun you will be,” he says. “I will enjoy taking you as my child, welcoming you into our ranks as you were once welcomed into the ranks of St John. So brother,” he lowers his voice and leans in, “What a catch you are; an educated knight who has discovered God. It will be a pleasure and a delight to corrupt you and bring you to the dark.” His fangs drop and he runs his tongue over them, letting Hythway see. “And the name your parents gave you. Your Christian name, please.” He strokes his hand over his future child’s shorn hair, looking forward to how he might look when his hair has grown back out and he’s out of his monk’s robe, dressed in velvet and silk as he should be. 

“James,” the name is given grudgingly but nevertheless given and Richard smiles again. “They named me James.”

******* 

 

**Present Day, Oxford, England**

 

Oxford is never dark, not since the advent of gas and then electric lighting. Oh, there are dark alleyways and passages, veins running through the heart of the city, but no matter how the dark may try to take back its own, the light always encroaches. It’s a never ending battle and as James stares down into the street below he remembers the days when you would see the little folk lurking in the shadows. No longer. These days it’s rare to see Brownies and Boggarts, simply because of the excess of light. 

He takes a sip of his wine. It’s late although there are still people about, walking the streets of Oxford despite the inclement weather. Samhain is only a week away and James is already beginning to feel the frisson that always hails that date. It comes from his mother’s blood and is further strengthened by his vampire nature. The date has turned into a holiday over the years, a time to celebrate and to frighten children with tales of the otherworld, but James remembers when it first started to be known as a night not to venture out. How, during the English Civil War, the Roundheads waged war not only against the royalists but against Supernaturals as well, eventually driving them underground. What had started with the persecution of witches under Henry VIII, including the execution of Anne, his own witch wife, continued under James I and the exploits of the Witchfinder General. That was nothing though compared to the attempted genocide of Supernaturals by Oliver Cromwell and his men. James always thought that ironic; that Cromwell, who quite clearly had goblin blood in his heritage, was so keen to destroy other Supernaturals. 

Some Supernatural races are gone now, exterminated in that war, their names lost to history. Well, human history at least. The Supernaturals remember them, and mourn them each Halloween, or Samhain as the witches like to name it. 

It had been a very long time before the reconciliation began. Charles II had tentatively started it, but then he was part fae after all, like his father. It was a shame his brother had been such an idiot and put the attempt of the reconciliation back at least two generations. 

James smiles bitterly and twists the ring on his finger. The design is worn now, smoothed out by the constant touch of his fingers, turning it this way and that over the centuries. Once it had stood strong and proud, the white of the cross proud against the black enamel embedded into the hard iron. 

It's nothing now though, just a band of battered and smoothed iron; a ring that by rights should no longer exist. Like its owner. There was a time, just after he'd been made, turned, when he'd thrown the ring away, not wanting to think about what he'd become, how different it was from what he'd been. But the ring had been returned to him by his maker, Richard Layton. His Sire, who had taken the name of the king, the Coeur De Lion, although by the time he'd entered James' life that king had been dead for over 300 years. It was, of course, only one of the many names he’d held over the years.

James continues to stare out, over the spires of Oxford as he remembers another day in another university city not too dissimilar to this one. It was the day he took his oath as a brother knight, receiving the ring marking him as a knight of the Hospitallar Order, and the day he left his father’s house and set himself on a path that led to here: Oxford in the twenty-first century. Who would ever have believed it? 

Despite his long life there are some events that just won't disappear, that stay entrenched in James' memory an no matter how hard he might try to forget they still remain. His mother's death, for examples, in the fallout of the King’s marriage to Anne Boleyn and the Witchcraft Act of 1942, witches becoming persecuted and hunted down on the King’s orders. Thankfully, things have changed and James wonders what his mother would think of the present day if she could see the way the supernatural world has become accepted, incorporated into the human world. 

There are other things that James remembers too, such as the day he became a vampire and the events directly preceding it: the last Abbot of Glastonbury, the Siege of Vienna and the Massacre of Traismauer. As a trusted messenger he’d seen many things, but nothing like the aftermath of that massacre; nearly four thousand women, children and elders murdered and impaled on stakes. Those deaths of the innocents killed or enslaved by the Ottomans had changed his life. That last battle, for him at least, became the defining moment wherein he realised that he no longer wanted to be a knight, no longer wanted to watch people slaughtered for another person’s faith. 

There are other memories, treasures, much newer than that though… Such as the day he first set eyes on Robbie Lewis. 

James takes another sip from his wine glass, continuing his perusal of Oxford's spires as he wonders just what the hell he is going to do about Detective Inspector Robert Lewis. And more to the point, whether he should do anything at all. Robbie’s lifespan is nothing more than a blink of an eye to his own, but does he have the right to end it? He doesn’t think so. Problem is of course that James knows he’s jealous and possessive and were he to have Robbie it would have to be forever. He couldn’t allow him to remain human, couldn’t bear to watch him age and die. He has seen too many deaths over the years. 

He sighs and, finishing the wine in one mouthful, goes to fetch the bottle, needing more than just a glass. Not for the first time James wonders what the hell he was thinking about when he offered to help out with the Supernatural Division, to spend more time with Robert Lewis.

 

***** 

 

**Halloween Night, Oxford, England**

 

Robbie rubs his hands over his aching eyes. He’s tired. Well, that’s not quite true. What he is, is exhausted but then he never expects to be anything else after Halloween. Despite the additional, and much needed _assistance_ from James Hathaway, tonight’s events – shenanigans, drunk and disorderliness, and careless spell casting – have simply been down to Robbie to deal with. The only assistance he’d received tonight had been from a couple of unlucky constables that must have done something to annoy Innocent to receive the Halloween shift.

It’s the one night of the years that the Supernaturals let loose, allowing themselves and humans to see them for what they are, the night when all sorts of things can, and will, happen!

Hathaway had apparently told Innocent before coming on board that Halloween was the one holiday he couldn’t and wouldn’t work. Robbie isn’t massively surprised by this, the Oxford Halloween Ball has been a fixture for decades, and has always been hosted by the Master of the City.

Robbie had been present at the ball one year, back when Morse was still alive. They’d attended in relation to a death and had been asked to stay and _enjoy the festivities_ by the Master. They’d stayed, of course. To leave would have been an insult and if Robbie closes his eyes he can still remember the dark beauty of the ball, the dazzle of jewels glittering in candle light, the rich colours of the clothes worn by the vampires, the allure of it all. He remembers how Morse had left with one of the vampire ladies, and how he’d looked the next day. Robbie wonders if the ball is any different now that Hathaway is Master.

He leans back and rolls his shoulders. Thankfully, he’s off tomorrow and can catch up on his sleep. They’ve made a multitude of arrests tonight, but the constables will be the ones typing up the reports, even though PC Fletcher is currently with the station witch, being de-greened of all things, the unfortunate consequence of getting in the way of the spells being thrown around before he could arrest the offending warlock.

Robbie takes a mouthful of his coffee and pulls a face. The station brew isn’t the greatest at the best of times but this one has also gotten cold whilst he was wool-gathering and it’s foul. He lifts his head as he hears the city’s clocks begin to chime midnight, calling in the new day, and he breathes a sigh of relief that he can go home soon, and that there haven’t been any deaths tonight for which he’s grateful.

Closing his eyes again he casts his mind back to the vampire ball and instead of the old Master of the City, he places Hathaway in his place, imagining what he might look like, what he would wear. Robbie shivers a little, although not in fear. He’s coming way too fascinated with the Master of the City and that’s dangerous. With a shake of his head Robbie pulls himself out of his thoughts, turning to his computer. There are still some last emails to send before he can close shop and head home. 

About an hour later there’s a knock at his door and Robbie looks up, surprised to see James standing there. He’s not as Robbie imagined, but then he only has one ball to go on and the last Master always dressed in velvet with a cape. Robbie trails his eyes up and down James, who is wearing black tie instead. His waistcoat is midnight blue shot through with silver thread and the only jewels he sports are his ring that Robbie has noticed before and a diamond stud pin. Robbie assumes it’s diamond anyway, not as if he’s had much experience with expensive gems, but he somehow doubts that it’s fake.

When he looks back up James’ right eyebrow is raised quizzically and he looks amused. Robbie flushes. “Sorry,” he says, a little embarrassed. “No velvet or glittering jewels then?”

James throws back his head and laughs and Robbie’s gaze is drawn to the pale skin of his neck and his mouth goes dry. “No,” James answers. “No velvet or glittering jewels. It’s a poor leader who needs such signs to be recognised as one. Here.” He unexpectedly proffers a travelling mug at Robbie. “This is for you.”

Robbie takes the mug, unscrews the cap and sniffs the drink within, surprised and pleased at the gift. “Rum?” he asks raising his eyes to the vampire. 

“Rum,” James nods, “and a few other things, including chocolate. I thought you’d need it after tonight’s events. Halloween is always a little… over-excitable.”

His face is a little flushed with colour and Robbie wonders if James has fed tonight, finding himself not liking that image. Hiding his face, not wanting James to see his thoughts, Robbie takes a sip of the drink, ridiculously pleased at the gesture. It tastes dark and rich, the rum hitting him where it counts. There’s an underlying flavour too, something he doesn’t recognise.

“This is delicious, thank you.” He smiles up at James and receives a returning smile. 

“Up,” James pulls him out of his seat. “Time you went home. You look exhausted.”

His grip is strong and Robbie doesn’t bother protesting, simply taking his jacket from the back of the chair. It’s all a bit surreal really, James turning up with hot chocolate of all things.

“Don’t you have a ball to host?” he says, trying not to lean into James, his tiredness catching up with him now that he’s standing. 

“It’s still going,” James answers, “but I don’t need to be there any longer. I’ve done my duty for the night.” His tone is dry and Robbie blinks a little.

“Not your thing then?” he says as they head toward the exit.

“No… Not my thing, but I do as I need to. Balls have never been my thing, not now nor when I was human.”

James takes a left as they leave the station and Robbie halts in his tracks. “My car’s in the car park,” he tells him.

“Yes, well mine’s here. Come on, Robbie.” He turns and looks at him. “Let me drive you home. It’s not as if you’re going to be needing your car tomorrow.” 

Robbie opens his mouth to argue and then shuts it. It’s pointless anyway. Shaking his head he climbs into the black F-Type Jaguar that’s waiting for them. It’s a lovely car but nothing like Morse’s Jag and he feels a pang of sorrow as he settles comfortably into the seat.

“You really are annoying,” he says as James starts up the motor. 

“Am I?” James asks. “Well, you don’t seem to mind it.” His smile is indulgent and Robbie tries not to bristle. Because that’s the rub. He really doesn’t mind it. He likes being in James’ company. 

Robbie sighs silently and continues to sip at the hot chocolate which really is very good, and ponders James’ words about never liking balls. James doesn’t speak much about what his life was like before he was turned, and Robbie hoards anything that he does say. They don’t talk much on the journey back. The silence is companionable and eventually they’re pulling up outside Robbie’s house. 

“I’m not in for the rest of the week,” James says. “Post Halloween things to deal with. But I’ll see you next Friday evening as usual. I’ll send a car for you. No…” He holds up his hands as he can see Robbie is about to protest. “Let me. After all,” his lips quirk, “what’s the point of minions if I don’t put them to use.” He leans closer and lowers his voice. “They get bored you know!” 

Robbie laughs. “Fine,” he shakes his head, “and I’m sure that if I said no you’d show up yourself to fetch me.” 

“Now you’re beginning to understand.” James’s eyes are dark and Robbie can almost feel the power emanating from him. “So, I’ll see you next week Robbie. Goodnight.”

It’s a clear dismissal and Robbie gets out of the car, stepping into the cold crisp night. The car waits until he’s in the house before driving away. Robbie takes off his jacket and then bends to stroke the cat, who has come to see who it is. He heads toward the kitchen, the cat at his heels crying piteously as though it’s never been fed. He’s exhausted and all he wants to do is feed the beast and sleep, maybe until next week. Robbie isn’t going to think about the unexpected ending to his night, at least not until tomorrow. 

For James to leave his own ball, the Supernatural event of the Oxford year and to come drive him home means something. Robbie just isn’t sure what yet. _Tomorrow,_ he thinks. _Tomorrow he will think about it._


End file.
